


Moon Girl

by Eatgreass



Category: Die sieben Raben | The Seven Ravens (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Elements, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, Gen, Revisionist Fairy Tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:09:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29510874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eatgreass/pseuds/Eatgreass
Summary: A telling of the events in the fairytale "The seven ravens."
Kudos: 1





	Moon Girl

Let us speak regarding a moon girl. 

Let us talk about the way she climbed to the top of the mountain for a family she had never met. 

In a way, it was a reclamation of self. She was one. They were seven, and perhaps someday they would be eight together, and so she ventured off to the woods. 

The sky is beautiful here, moon girl. The sun hates you. 

Ask it for a key, go on. Ask. No? 

That’s good. It holds fire, the likes of which you cannot comprehend, and it is angry, the audacity a little girl has to bargain with the god for seven. It will not give you a key, only red puckered skin marring your beautiful face. 

The sun would not listen, so you go to the moon. This is your home, Luna. The moon is what you were named for, and it will listen as you tell it about your sad state of affairs, she will blink heavy lidded eyes at you and cry until the tides go up and down, and then she will give you the sad truth: She has nothing for you. 

The moon is a figurehead, you see, and it is so willing to help, but so unable to. Blue glowing light comes only from a bargain made with the sun, and she has nothing of her own. Is it selfishness? “Luna,” she asks, “Is it selfishness that I will not risk my light and life for you or your family? After all, we were built as family, and I will not blame you when you decide to rebuke me.”

“No,” you say back. “The moon does what it needs, and although I want, I  _ need  _ my brothers back, I will not make you give yourself for me. You are not the firstborn child, unlucky living in a home without a blood cross on the door.”

And she sighs with happiness, content to live in the monotony that you have afforded her. 

Perhaps the cousins of the sun will welcome you. 

And they do. The stars have a cacophony of words to speak to you, they are shouting. It is so much, so much that you cannot understand, about red strings of fate and blood and roses and a perfect dress fit for a queen. Luna, you can barely edge a word in otherwise, for they have so much to tell you. 

Ask  _ them  _ for a key, and they will give it eagerly, placing it in your hands like manna in the wilderness. 

So now you have a key in your bag, and a journey to make, and the glass will cut your fingers as you climb the mountain. It’s a miracle you even made it to the top, Luna. It was pain and blood and your face is a monument to the jagged scars a mountain of glass will give, but you prevailed. 

Stubborn virtue, that is. I admire you. 

So pull the key out of your knapsack, Luna, you know well that you have it. You went through everything, you braved the forests to speak to the stars, and you  _ must  _ have the key. 

It must have fallen out somewhere on the mountain. 

Don’t cry Luna, you were never that kind of girl, and I know well that you do not break with tears. You shatter with glass, and tears are not to be seen, but jagged spikes? That is more  _ you  _ than I can ever imagine. 

Make a decision, you are good at those. You push forward, Luna, although I cannot fathom why. I do love you, do love watching you, in the way that you love an actress. You are my Sybil, only I very much hope you do not meet her tragic end. 

I suppose that makes me Dorian, but no matter. I will use my hubris to watch you, I want you to make it through the double doors, I want you to complete your quest. A tragedy is only tragedy if you are not doomed from the start. 

Oh, Luna! That is gruesome, truly. That is not a key, that is not even a lockpick! Oh, Luna, what have you done? I suppose it has done what you meant to do, but there is something poetic about losing a part of yourself for the reclamation of those whom you never knew. 

It was only a pinkie finger, after all. Oh Luna, I feel inclined to grieve for a loss of yourself, but I can only find determination in your eyes. Oh, Luna. 

It opened the door, and the lock is stained red, for you bit off your finger with so little thought. Wander the glass castle, you are still on display for me, magic mirror woman.

Luna, when you meet the dwarf with the chalice filled full of liquid blood, ask him for a sip. He will acquiesce, and urge you to drink your fill. But you are not a glutton, and so you will decline, admiring the silverware from a distance, waiting for the coal-black feathers to return, for you know what you will recognize despite never seeing the humanity in the faces.

He is preparing dinner for you, Luna, and it is wonderful. Small plates, small cups, fit for ravens, and not humans. But the dwarf is kind, and he will offer you a place at his table, the chairs too small. 

As he sets the food, examine the silver cups. Curl your hands around the bloody finger that you’ve held onto. After all, you would never give a piece of you away, never drop it. 

You set it carefully with the wine. 

Your brothers will show, now, the flutter of wings beating like something sacred. You wonder, for a minute, are you coming to retrieve someone that does not want to come back with you? No, you decide, you are Artemis, and they are Apollo. What a wicked dream it is then, that the sun bit you and you are only moon kissed? 

Do not think on that. Eat, drink and be merry, for you have worked so hard, and I am your patron. They will drink the wine, greedily drain every drop, and the seventh brother is the last to finish his cup. This is when he sees what you have dropped in the glass. He stares for a second, looking from the finger in his alcohol to the bloody napkin you have bandaged yourself with. His eyes will switch from rage to sadness to revulsion, and finally, understanding. 

It seems as if time has stopped, right now, so that the seven of them and the one of you can work this out. 

And he holds it out to you. 

WIll you take it? Luna, I will be sad to see you go, but I believe you will take back that part of you.

Oh, you did. Oh, Luna, I am crying for you, these are tears of happiness. 

Black as night ravens become fair as day boys, and they cover their mouths to see you. They dare not hope, but it  _ is  _ you, Luna. 

Perhaps the journey home will be easier. Perhaps braving the forest is a comfort when you are not alone. But for now, sit, with a family that you never knew, and learn them.

Luna, you did the impossible, and I, your patron, the moon weeping tears of stardust, I love you. 

Someday, I hope you will return to me, and I know you are too good for me. But I will admire you from a distance, my Daisy. I will love you like a painter loves a painting and like a priest worships at an altar, and like the moonlight worships the sea. 

Luna, you are happy, therefore the melancholy in my heart is quelled. 

**Author's Note:**

> @king-of-a-walnut on tumblr. Come talk with me if you want.


End file.
